Reluctant Cupid
by QueenCelestiaxyv
Summary: Canada thinks France and England are stupid in how they handle their relationship. Random plot. With a little 'help' from Netherlands, Prussia and Russia, things come to an inconclusive end.   FrUK PruCanRusNeth and hetero!lemon.


_Reluctant Cupid_

**Author:** Queen Celestia

**Warnings: **Femi!France x Arthur hetero sex. And a slight hint of PruCanaRusNeth.

**Note: **The purpose of this story is to make your heart go dokidoki, and your insides go fuwafuwa. I hope I did… as my intended goal. I think I may have failed a little here. OTL

xxxxxxxxx

Matthew Williams thought both his fathers were idiots.

This was confirmed as he stared with some disbelief as Arthur slumped over the bar like some broken puppet, alcohol in hand and sobbed.

Arthur had gotten drunker a lot faster than usual, something that Matthew hadn't been prepared for. Shit, he really should have said 'no' at around the fifth serving, he did not want to be spending the night with an overly clingy Arthur trying to hit on him just because he looked like a very young Francis.

Alfred had the mistaken impression that whenever Arthur got drunk he always winged about the revolutionary war, but then again, Alfred thought everything was about him.

If only Alfred could see Arthur now, Matthew thought, as wet green eyes turned to him, and thick bushy brows furrowed as if in some surprise.

Here we go again, came the thought.

"Francis?" it was a low growl, "When did you get here you frog?"

Matthew put on his best fake smile, and replied, "I'm not Francis, remember?"

"Tosh, you're lying."

With a sudden jerk, Arthur sat up, and wobbled a little too much on his bar stool.

"No one else has poofter hair like you!" came the triumphant announcement. "Except maybe…."

Was there still some hope?

"Except maybe?"

Arthur scowled, "That other one, the invisiwatsit."

Perhaps not.

"Canada."

"Ah Canada. Nice lad. Lot nicer than his fucktard of a gobshite brother."

"I am Canada."

"No yer not." Came the slur, as Arthur flumped into him, "Nooooo. I can see you."

Slipping some money onto the table, Matthew received a sympathetic look from the barman, as he helped Arthur off the stool.

"Where we goin!" Came the accusation.

"Home."

"Yer not tryin to take advantage of me are ye?" Arthur struggled to stand up on his own, but stumbled.

"Always," came the sarcastic reply.

A hand reached down and stroked Matthews crotch, "Well, as I always say, can't rape the willin!"

Great, oh great, the sexual assault again, came Matthews thought. It always was this way, whenever Arthur decided to drop by and try the Screech. The man was certain he could hold his liquor, only to end up in some floppy little mess trying to get it on with him.  
Matthew had realized with some horror, that the only way Arthur and Francis really got it on as of late, was when they were both piss ass drunk, with the excuse of writing it off as a 'one night stand that's happened more than once and will probably happen again but that's ok we're drunk'.

Teleporting to where they were staying, Matthew dragged Arthur over to his bed, and plopped him there.

Thank goodness they were in his country, and he could do this. The thought of having to drag a clingy pervy Arthur all the way home without cutting it short was something he would rather not think about.

"Go to bed now." Came the soothing voice.

Arthur looked confused, "Where ye goin?"

A quick lie, "Pee. I'll be right back."

"Oh alrigh'." Arthur was satisfied, and flomped back on the bed.

Matthew quickly shuffled out, closing the door behind him, before going to the bathroom and getting ready for bed.

Crawling into his crisp sheets, Matthew let out a happy sigh.

Hopefully Arthur wouldn't remember tonight, and there won't be any awkward conversation over pancakes and tea.

Violet eyes popped open as he felt something crawl into his bed, and he let out a groan.

"You never came back." Was the drunken excuse, and Matthew stared at the teary eyed British man with some trepidation.

Arthur snuggled up to him, an arm tossed across his chest, before quickly falling asleep.

Well… if that was all. He could handle snuggling and sleeping, he really didn't get much of it as of late, what with his group of lovers uniformly being pissed off at him for various reasons.

Looking at the sleeping face, Matthew resolved right there that he needed to fix the situation. No matter how cute Arthur looked cuddled up to him, there was always the creepy possibility of him waking up and attempting to get him off.  
His thoughts turned to that awkward situation, where Gilbert had walked in on him and Arthur 'cuddling' like this, the red eyes widening in shock, and entirely misreading the situation.  
Gilbert was still skirty about the issue, and that was one of the reasons why he and Matthew were currently 'off'.

Apparently Gilbert had a very tough time accepting the fact that Arthur was capable cuddling without anything sexual, so no matter how many times Matthew insisted nothing untoward had happened the other would stubbornly refuse to listen. It wasn't even the fact that Matthew might have had relations with the other country that pissed Gilbert off, it was the fact that Matthew kept 'lying' about it.

Thing's wouldn't have gotten so 'off', if Gilbert hadn't muttered something about Matthew having a 'colony' attitude toward the situation – implying that Matthew was covering up for something shameful. It had tempted Matthew to actually bother fucking Arthur just so he could reply, "I finally fucking did it, all inspired by you Gilbert!" But when it came down to the situation, Matthew just looked at Arthur like a father figure and he couldn't violate the unspoken rule between him and Francis to lay off the other's play things. (Unless exclusively invited)

However, he had been feeling a little down without Gilbert, there was just something about his personality filling the room, his attention directed towards you that was comforting… Lately world meetings had been uncomfortable, Gilbert had been purposely ignoring him. (Matthew liked to convince himself that he had been ignoring the other as well, but the furtive glances and the irritated snort from Lars told him otherwise)

He knew Gilbert would never be the one in a million years to back down, but Matthew didn't want to give into the lie… so instead, if he were to successfully set up Arthur and Francis, it would solve all the problems, and Gilbert would have to believe him then! Right?

He would need a little help, and Matthew sleepily went through the rolodex in his brain, discarding people as he came upon them. (Alfred, no too much of an idiot, Katyusha? Too much of a sweety, and no doubt the romantic love between Arthur and Francis would traumatize her. Miguel? He would just bang their heads together… hmm not too bad… )

Until finally he settled on a name, they should know both nations quite well and tell it like it is. He just needed to convince them to talk to him again.

"I hope you've come to tell me you've fixed up the stupid argument with Gilbert." Was the first words Matthew received as the door opened to reveal a grumpy looking Netherlands.

_A deliciously grumpy Netherlands,_ Matthew thought, his eyes hungrily taking in the crumpled white shirt, half tucked in to some very snug jeans.

"You're looking at me like that again," came the tired voice, snapping Matthew out of his thoughts of violation.

"Eh?" Matthew's purple eyes snapped up to bemused green eyes of the other, "Like what?"

"Like you were wanting to eat me, like you do pastry," came the reply, as the other stood back to let Matthew pass through.

_Damnit! Every time!_ Matthew thought with some embarrassment, _Lars knows every single time.._

"I haven't fixed up the argument with Gilbert…" Matthew replied instead, noting the alarmed annoyed look on Lars' face, he quickly amended, "But I'm trying to. I need your help."

Closing the door, Lars followed behind, his eyes narrowing, "This isn't going to be like before, where you ran out of weed and you just wanted an excuse to visit, so made up some elaborate story involving Russia, in which we ended up crashed in the living room, and said Russia walked in on us with delicious food and surprise?"

Matthew flushed, "That story was true thank you very much! You know Ivan's unpredictable – and you know it was lucky he brought some food! We were getting ready to gnaw on your furniture."

"Yeah that," Lars eyes misted over as he remembered the delicious food Ivan had brought, surprised that the other could cook so well… It had felt like a bit of a set up, how perfectly it all worked out, plus the fact that Ivan turned out to be REALLY cute when high had ended up leading to some sort of messed up orgy going on (that had a really awkward ending when Gilbert decided to do an 'awesome' drop by. Telling Gilbert that it wasn't on purpose, with a dick up your ass, and yours down a throat was pretty fucking hard on the convincing part.)

Flomping onto the couch, Matthew waited until the other was seated, before he spoke again. "So, what do you know about Arthur and Francis?"

"What does this have to do with getting Gilbert back?" Lars bluntly replied.

"Gilbert thinks me and Arthur keep having sex? And that I'm lying when I say nothing happens?" Matthew grumpily replied.

"You don't?"

"Lars! I thought you out of everyone would have believed me!" came the whine, "Arthur just mistakes me for a young Francis, and crawls into my bed with the _intent_ of violating me, but always passes out! But it's not _me_ he wants to violate!"

The other took in the words, stewing over them, "So you think getting him and Francis to stop acting like stupid asses will solve the situation?"

Matthew replied with an emphatic, "Yes!"

"Hmmmmm," Lars took out his pipe, and lit it, the smoking helping him think.

Patiently, Matthew sat there, violet eyes trained on him; as if awaiting the 'guru' to extol some amazing plan that he had not yet thought up.

Five minutes passed, and then ten, followed by another twenty. Still Lars said nothing, his eyes in fact seemed to have glazed over and focused on a small spot on the wall.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, and showing that in fact, he was related to Alfred, Matthew broke the silence, "Well?"

"It would have to be extreme," was the response, "These two should have paired up ages ago, but are both too stubborn to bother doing so. Since normal tactics probably won't work on them, we'll have to make it more elaborate, and perhaps make them both uncomfortable."

"Oh?"

Lars nodded, his mouth twitching up into a rather creepy smile, as he announced, "Karaoke, at Ivan's place."

"I meant something serious!" Matthew exclaimed, his face turning red.

Taking the pipe out from between his lips, Lars replied, "I am serious, just think on it. Both of them _had_ good relations with Ivan, until the recent past, and then getting invited to Karaoke, seems like something Ivan would do, you'll have to be there of course, and I might as well be there, as well as maybe Gilbert whose sitting listening in to this outside the window, and we'll have to work it so that they somehow end up confessing to each other."

"I was not spying, I was napping!" came the reply, as Gilbert popped up into view, "The awesome me, was napping under this convenient window, and your loud talking woke me up! If I were to 'spy' my skills are so ninja that even Japan cannot detect me, and he's a _real_ ninja!"

"And to think, all this time I thought Japan was ignoring him," Lars muttered to Matthew, as he stood up to let the other in.

Stifling his laughter, Matthew nodded, watching as Lars disappeared from site.

Walking purposely before, as if he owned the place, Gilbert entered the room. Looking at Matthew in a way that told him he was still pissed, Gilbert sat on the opposite end of the couch, arms crossed.

Lars sat in the middle, between them acting as the peaceful barrier – which Matthew thought was mildly ironic, since that was usually his position. Had been his position for a good while, the two of them still bitter from recent disputes, both vowing never to get along, until they had some of the fucking hottest hate sex Matthew had seen in a long while (Be still my beating heart, Matthew thought ironically) and then everything seemed to have gelled together.

Gilbert subtly shifted closer to Lars, his red eyes flashing over to Matthew as if in a challenge.

Violet narrowed in response, and Matthew simply did not move. Not yet, he wanted to fully figure out the Plan before participating in petty games with Gilbert.

"Since Gilbert was 'napping'," Lars mouth turned down at the lame lie, "Basically, the plan is to get Arthur and Francis mildly drunk, on edge, and singing karaoke at each other at Ivan's house."

"That's the stupidest plan ever," Gilbert replied, "Francis won't fall for it – plus he would just charm his way around."

Cocking an eyebrow, Lars replied, "Then what's your big idea genius."

"Shave Englands eyebrows off."

Matthew and Lars stared at Gilbert, wondering if his insanity levels had finally tipped off the scale.

Scowling at their expressions, Gilbert elaborated, "But we don't, well we do, but we make it into a sort of fashion crisis, so that Francis has to help."

"Wouldn't Francis just laugh hysterically and say it 'served the rosbif right' ?" came Matthews acerbic reply.

"Well we got to get them on some common ground!" Gilbert spat back.

"Yes, common ground," Lars said, thoughtfully eying up Matthew in a way that made Matthew wary. "How do you function?"

"What?"

"With the two combating nationalities…."

Matthew smiled wryly, "I have more than just two combating nationalities."

"You know what I mean, with Quebec."

"Distance." Matthew replied.

That obviously wasn't the answer Lars wanted, and with the questioning look from Gilbert, Matthew decided to elaborate.

"Three provinces in between Quebec and Alberta helps keep some of the peace, and perpetuates many misunderstandings. Although they both share a mutual hate of the Federal government, but that sums up pretty much all the provinces and territories."

"Mutual hate!" Gilbert exclaimed, "That's it!"

Matthew shook his head, "I don't think that's the best idea."

"No." Lars had sat upright, as if struck by lightening, "Gilbert's right. Many a friendship can be formed by mutual hate."

"Why do things with you guys have to always deal with hate?" Matthew grumbled.

"Because we're European, and know how to exactly push each others buttons," came Gilberts reply, his mouth widening into a shit eating grin.

A silent communication seemed to take place between Lars and Gilbert, leaving Matthew oddly left out, before as if in chorus, they shouted, "Most definitely at Ivans!"

When the plan came spilling out, the explanation getting outlined for the Canadian, Matthew felt as if their previous madcap plan had metamorphosed into some sort of Frankenstein.

Strong hands jolted him out of sleep, green eyes widening to panic widened red ones.

"Hurry up you English bastard! There isn't much time left!" were the first words thrown at him, and Arthur scowled.

"What the bloody hell hour do you call this?" he shouted once he had sufficiently recovered from being so rudely awoken, his hands quickly gripping the other man's hands and tearing them away from his nightgown. (He had to do the tearing away carefully, since it just so happened to be his favourite nightgown, a gift from Francis ages ago, it was all frilly and embarrassing, but on the nights he felt lonely, he would spray it with whatever cologne Francis was now wearing and sleep in it.)

"Mattie's been kidnapped!" Gilbert replied.

"What?" came a very French sounding outburst from behind the German, causing Arthur to automatically pull the sheets up to his chest in embarrassment, the pronouncement not yet having entirely sunk in. "This is why you dragged me out of bed, and across the channel for? To announce my dear Matthieu has been kidnapped?"

"Yup!" Gilbert replied, before choking a little as strong French hands lashed out and grabbed him by his shirt.

"Why did you not tell me this right away?" came the French hiss, "Why did we have to go over to rosbif's house?"

"Oi!" Arthur interrupted, hopping out of his bed, all pretence at 'modesty' forgotten at the insult, "What exactly are you implying there you scummy frog?"

"Imply? I imply nothing, I just state, that you will be useless in the operation of saving Matthieu." Francis replied with a smirk.

Arthur's cheeks reddened in anger, and his brows drew down, "What the bloody hell do you mean by that?"

"Oh, that you cannot work on your own, that you will have to call dear little Amerique," Francis replied.

"I can save Matthew without Alfred you know!" Arthur replied as he turned on the lamp in his room, "And what did you mean that 'there isn't much time left?"

As if on cue, Gilbert supplied a letter.

Grabbing it, Arthur began to read it, Francis striding over, and hovering over his shoulder so that he could see it as well.

"When did you get this?" Arthur asked, as he finished the last line.

"Well, I went over to Mattie's for some awesome pancakes, I guess it was around yesterday, and his apartment had been broken into, so whilst I looked around, the note was on the table." Gilbert replied.

"Then why didn't you contact Amerique?" Francis replied, his eyes thoughtfully trained on Gilbert.

When volunteering for this job, Gilbert had forgotten to mention that he wasn't that good at lying, and that Francis sometimes had the uncanny ability to see right through him.

"Hello! This is a delicate operation," Gilbert replied, "I don't think Mattie is going to be saved by going in all guns blazing."

"I guess." Francis replied, his tone implying that he still believed there to be something more.

"Plus the note said not to bring him…" Gilbert added, "So, we gotta get going!"

Arthur nodded, "Let me get my stuff."

They watched, as Arthur opened his closet, drew out a black cloak, and pulled it on over his nightgown, before reaching to the uppermost shelf and bringing down a heavy looking satchel.

"Merde, Arthur you are not getting your 'magical' items are you? This is a crisis in reality," Francis snorted, "I do not think your 'okery pokery will save Matthieu."

"Shutup," Arthur huffed, "We do not have time to debate on the effectiveness of my magic, we need to get going."

"And how will you get going with no shoes on hmm?" Francis replied as Arthur began to lead the way out of his room, the light quickly getting turned of, causing the house to plunge into darkness. Quickly, Arthur turned the hall light on.

"Shutup you frog," Arthur grumbled as they reached the front door, and he slipped on some loafers, "Happy now?"

"Non," Francis replied, a look of distaste pasted across his face, "Those shoes insult my sensibilities. Don't you 'ave something else not so horrific?"

As if to pinpoint his despair, Francis opened the hall closet further, and began to ruffle about.

"We don't have time for shoes!" Gilbert cut in, seeing the harsh tension in Arthur's face.

"There is always time for shoes!" Francis hollered back, and then, with a triumphant looked pulled out a pair of well worn, old knee high boots. Holding them out to Arthur, he said, "Wear these, and remove those terrible things that you pretend are 'shoes'."

"Those aren't shoes!" Arthur shot back, as he took the boots – his old pirate boots.

"But they look a lot better!" Francis replied.

"You are a very sick man," Arthur mumbled, his hair tousling into his face as he managed to pull the boots on.

"Sick with l'amour!" came the chirrup.

"With your fat head." Came Arthurs rejoinder, his face flushed with blood as he fully stood up again.

Smirking, Francis replied, "Oh Arthur, you shouldn't complain about my _fat head_."

"I meant the other one!" Arthur snarked, as he yanked open the door, the London smog rolling into the hall, surrounding and suffocating like wool.

Gilbert was beginning to realize that perhaps Matthew hadn't been lying about the situation, as he followed them out into the dark murky night.

"And how do you propose we get there?" Francis asked, pulling his jacket tighter as if to push away the fog. "I do not want to be stuck with Gilbert's terrible teleporting again – we nearly ended up getting run over on the train tracks!"

"There's nothing wrong with my teleporting!" Gilbert replied grumpily, "I just like to take the scenic routes."

"I would rather not take the scenic way to Russia either," Arthur agreed, "Gilbert, your teleporting is terrible, it makes one seasick, and I don't _get_ seasick."

"That's stupid! How can you get seasick, if you don't get seasick!" Gilbert snorted, following the two forms to stand under the distilled glow of a street lamp.

" 'e is obviously stating, that your skills are so bad, that he gets sick." Francis sniffed. "So how are we going to get there?"

"Take my hands." Arthur replied, "I'll teleport us there."

"Oh no! No no no! Let us go back to la belle France so I can do the long distance teleport! You'll just throw us into Siberia or something!" Francis exclaimed.

"Are you implying I don't have good aim!" Arthur growled, "I can transport us perfectly well to the British Embassy thank you very much!"

"Transport us to your turf!" Francis sounded absolutely scandalized, "You would probably lock me up, and make me wear those horrible loafers! A torment worse than death itself!"

"How the hell could loafers be worse than death?" Sneered Arthur, "Did you test it out? Because if you did, I wish you would have just stayed dead and saved us all a bloody head ache."

"Guys! Mattie could be in some serious trouble!" Gilbert burst in, "You remember who he's with right?"

The two paused, before Francis gave a loud sniff, and said, "Fine, I will put my life on the line for dear Matthieu and allow the rosbif to teleport us to Russia."

Primly, he stuck out his hand, waiting limply.

"Oh leaping Jehoshaphat, I am so pleased you are putting your life on the line with my teleportation!" Arthur replied his voice laden with sarcasm, as he firmly wrapped his hand around Francis, before roughly grabbing Gilberts hand. "Let's hope I don't bloody fuck this up then! Might ruin your hair style!"

Before any reply could be made, that familiar swirl happened, as if the earth around them simply melted, a wet painting doused by a bucket of water, only to be reformed less foggy, and a lot colder, the British Embassy looming up behind them.

Hands were immediately let go, as Francis visibly shivered, "This weather I do not like! Let us hurry up and rescue Matthieu from the Russian, and go home."

"I wasn't exactly planning to linger!" Arthur retorted, as he drew his cloak closer to himself, "Perhaps you should have worn a more sensible jacket?"

"But those are so ugly!" Francis replied grumpily, rubbing his arms.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur stepped forward, instinctively leading the way to where Ivan lived within Moscow, the complaining Frenchman, and irritated German following behind.

"How far does Ivan live?" Francis asked, visibly shivering with the cold.

"Quite a ways from my embassy."

"Can't we take some sort of transportation there?" Francis muttered.

Arthur suddenly stopped, and with some fighting with his satchel, he successfully removed his cloak, and tossed it to Francis, "Pull this on and shut up!"

It was strange, and in a way hilarious to see Arthur looking so authoritative in a frilly nightgown, his hair sticking every which way.

Narrowing his eyes, Francis replied, "I do not need your charity rosbif."

"I'm perfectly, fine," Arthur replied, the slight shiver belying his lie.

"I do not need it," Francis replied, holding the item out as if it contained dead mice in the pockets (which it might have).

"I don't need it!" Arthur stubbornly replied.

In response, two pale hands shot out, and grabbed the cloak from out of Francis' hand. "Well, if you both don't need it, I'm wearing it."

Gilbert smirked, as he shrugged the cloak on, "Come on, we gotta save Mattie, save the UST for later."

Taking pleasure in the momentary speechlessness of the two, Gilbert began to lead the way. Their fighting was driving him insane, he was surprised Matthew hadn't grown up to be some kind of mass murderer with these two as his parental figures.

There were some grumbles of it not being 'UST', but apparently Gilberts comment had mollified the two, and they somewhat quietly followed behind.

Ivan's rather forlorn looking house arrived into view, the dark shadows seeming to lay in wait for those foolish enough to step into them.

Their footsteps paused, as if hesitant to step into those shadows.

"Are you sure the letter said meet here? It looks abandoned." Francis said, eyeing the dark interior.

"You all saw it," Gilbert replied drawing in his breath to walk up the path and knock on the door.

Before any of them could make up their mind to form a plan, the door burst open, light shockingly spilling forth that was blacked out quickly by a fairly upset Russian.

"He's gone!" the voice spilled out over the lit up icy side walk, tears visibly in the eyes of the Russian, "What have you done with him!"

As if in collection, the small group shivered, it was never a good thing to see Ivan cry, it usually meant a lot of violence was immanent.

Francis' self preservation kicked in immediately, "How could we have him if we have just arrived?"

The childish voice went cajoling, as the Russian stepped out, moving towards the group.

Hands seemed to caress the pipe, as Ivan spoke, "You must have done something with him, he's not where I put him. How can I be certain you are not double crossing me?"

"Maybe he's escaped?" Gilbert ventured, attempting to keep the unawesome fear out of his voice, because, Ivan sure as hell was really convincing.

"You've double crossed us Gilbert," Ivan hissed, "You let him escape, you've ruined everything."

"WHAT?" Gilbert squeaked (it was obviously intentional for stage effect, he would later say).

"Double crossed?" Arthur barked, eyeing Gilbert up as if he were a rat.

"I … I'm just the messenger!" Gilbert replied, before, he awesomely decided to escape. His job was done! He was outta here! Quickly, like a ninja, he took the cloak off and tossed it at their faces, before running away.

Fumbling with the cloak, Arthur managed to catch it, watching as the albino made his escape, idly wondering if he should do so as well.

Ivan made a move as if to follow, before stopping and arresting his attention onto them, "Well, if I can't have all…"

In a movement that was faster than expected of someone so big, Francis and Arthur found themselves wrapped in large Russian arms, "You're my prisoners now! You're going to tell me where you took Matvey!"

"Let go of me!" Arthur shouted, as they were dragged down the sidewalk and into the dingy house.

Ivan didn't reply, just shoved them inside, before closing the door firmly, the manic expression spread across his face.

"It's not fair!" he pouted, "I went through all the trouble to kidnap him, and then you kidnap him away! It's not going my way at all, and I _hate_ when things don't go my way!"

Francis and Arthur shared a look, the best translation would probably go along the lines of 'oh shit.' Followed by a silent agreement of truce, so that they could get out of there alive.

Francis spoke first, "Why did you kidnap Matthieu in the first place? I'm sure if you spoke to him, he would come to visit."

"Because he didn't come last time, he needed to be taught a lesson…" Ivan's hand moved away from the pipe, revealing a darkened stain on the gleaming metal, the stain obviously blood.

"What have you done to him you monster?" Francis shouted the blood making him lose sense of any semblance of sanity, Arthur quickly grabbed him to pull him back.

"You are very rude, I do not like rude people," Ivan hissed, as he began to push them down the hall.

"Tell me what you did to him! You didn't beat him did you!" Francis shouted, while Arthur helped guide him down the hall.

Ivan just smiled in response, before shoving them down some stairs.

Quickly, the two nations regained their wobbly footing, allowing themselves to be forced down the stairs into a cold and murky basement, being led further into a tiny windowless room.

Francis protesting the entire way, and when Arthur saw the room, he quickly turned around, "What do you think you-"

Cold purple eyes stared at them, "I'll come get you when you're of use."

And the door closed the locks loud as each one thudded into place.

"Let us out!" Francis tossed himself at the door, scrabbling uselessly against it.

"Oh stop it Francis!" Arthur snarked, as he settled down against the wall, as if resigned to his fate.

"How can I stop! That monster has gone and hurt Matthieu! I at least have a heart, unlike you! How can you be so calm!" Francis protested, his blue eyes lit up with unshed tears.

Scowling, Arthur replied, "Just because I don't put on some sort of operatic performance, doesn't mean I don't care – I just decided to figure out a sensible solution instead of wasting my energy against an impenetrable door."

"Cold hearted fish," Francis grumbled, as he elegantly slid down the door into an artistically placed lump of misery. "What do you have in mind?"

"Let's get the facts that we have straight, and go from there." Arthur replied, as he spread out his cloak a top of him to fend of the chill.

"Fine… I know that Gilbert rudely woke me up, and dragged me out of my room giving me barely any time to get dressed," Francis said, "He then horribly teleported me to your dank little island, where it was then revealed Matthieu was stolen."

"And then Gilbert told us some weird story that didn't add up, but if he's double crossed with Ivan, it means he was working for the other side," Arthur continued thoughtfully, "Which means that perhaps Matthew has escaped, and we've got ourselves into a real spot of bother."

The two sat there, their minds cleared of everything else except the problem, the years of working together simply snapping back into place.

"Do you think this is a set up of some sort?" Francis finally spoke, "It doesn't make sense that Ivan would kidnap Mathieu. They play hockey all the time together…"

"I think you may be right." Arthur agreed, "But a set up… what for? When I last visited Matthew, there didn't seem anything to be amiss."

Francis' head seemed to snap to attention at Arthurs words, "You visited him recently? Tell me, what exactly happened."

Flushing, Arthur gave an abbreviated version, where he admitted to waking up in Matthews bed snuggled up to the younger nation.

"Maybe it is revenge?" Francis thoughtfully asked, "Although I am not sure why _I _must be involved in such an elaborate revenge plot."

"I think there's something more." Arthur sighed, gazing at the Frenchman, "I still don't like being in this basement though, bleeding cold… What do you say to escaping?"

Frowning, Francis asked, "You already said the door was impenetrable. How do you propose we escape? Magic?"

"Exactly!" Arthur agreed excitedly.

"Your magic doesn't work properly," Francis said disdainfully. "I do not want to be split in half."

"Furmay ley boosh Francis, it may surprise you to know that getting 'split in half' is not on my top ten things to do either."

Arthur stood up, the cloak now laying limply in his arm.  
Removing his satchel he carefully placed it on the ground, before shrugging himself into the black material of his cloak. Pulling the hood up, he shot Francis a 'don't you dare' look, before opening the satchel and removing some sage.

"Now, if you can clear your mind of at least some mud, I'll purify the area."

"Mon dieu," Francis murmured hopelessly, "I am going to die for the sake of an elaborate plot, that I have nothing to do with!"

"Shutup." Arthur spat, as he lit the sage, and began to waft it around the room.

Seeming to gather some courage, Francis finally added, "Well at least let me die a glorious death!"

Ignoring Francis' dramatics, Arthur finished cleansing the area, before he told Francis to stand to a side.

Not at all happy, Francis watched as Arthur took out some chalk and began to draw some squiggly symbols on the ground, none of which seemed to make sense. As far as he could tell it was a picture pretending to be magic.

Casting a warning glance over to the Frenchman, Arthur stated, "Don't laugh… I'm going to do some chanting now."

"Well I hope to god you do not sound as stupid as you look, otherwise I believe I _will_ laugh," Francis replied, crossing his arms.

Ignoring the other mans comments, Arthur opened up a few pouches and sprinkled some powder onto the ground, before intoning his voice into the chanting.

Nothing seemed to be happening, from Francis' point of view, and after about ten minutes standing there watching Arthur make an ass of himself, he decided to perhaps lend a hand.

And that was where things went horribly wrong.

The moment Francis moved, a loud bang filled the air, followed by 'DON'T STEP THERE YOU BLOODY FROG!' Followed by some strange mist… and then a very feminine shriek.

"Francis?" a panicky sounded British man called out, eyes desperately searching through the smoke.

"Is that concern I hear in your voice?" a voice purred from behind him.

"Just don't want a lawsuit," replied a mildly mollified Arthur as he turned around, his eyes widening as the site cleared up.

There stood Francis… but a very different Francis.

It wasn't the hair – which looked a little mussed from the explosion. Or the amused expression upon Francis' face.

It was the fact that Francis had turned into a woman that took Arthur off guard, a very beautiful woman.

Subconsciously, Arthur wet his lips, "Francis?"

"As you can see I'm right here… but I feel a little tingly. Who knows? Perhaps your magic did work and we are now out of that cell." The blue eyes looked around, disappointment clear as the room came into view. "Oh… why am I not surprised at the fact we are still trapped? I had been kind of hoping your magic would have worked this time. But that is how dreams go I suppose, c'est la vie."

Noticing how Arthur was staring at him, Francis smirked, "Yes I know I'm beautiful, but it's rather an odd time to realize this yes?"

Shaking his head as if to bring himself out of a stupor, Arthur took the few steps forward, and then silently lay his hand upon Francis' breasts as if to assure himself that they were actually there.

Francis' eyes widened, as he looked at him… or should it be herself?

"Zut alores!" she let out, "What have you done to me?"

Moving out of Arthur's groping hand, Francis quickly looked around at her new body, her hands flying to her jacket and undoing it to get a better look at the now rather prominent breasts.

Underneath, she had tossed on a loose white button up shirt, and fashionably cut black pants, which now were snugly accentuating her legs.

"Everywhere?" Francis muttered to herself, before unashamedly pulling the pants down and touching herself to assure that everything had changed.

Realizing he must have made a sound, Arthur watched as Francis shot him a naughty little grin, "Angleterre, it seems I was mistaken and that you do have magic that manages to work. You are a lot more naughty than I give you credit for."

"Pull your pants up!" Arthur managed to croak, quickly diverting his eyes.

"Ah? And if I don't?" the purr was much too predatory to Arthur's liking, and as a result, the Englishman took a step back, as if attempting to make good his escape.

"Then I am afraid I will end up tossing you unceremoniously onto the floor and fucking you." Arthur replied quietly, his face red as a beet root.

Due to not looking at Francis' face, Arthur missed the rather lascivious grin that flashed across those very delicious feminine lips, "Ah, that is nothing to be afraid of… and it has been a while since we have soberly… you know… engaged in positive relations?"

A small whimper escaped, before Arthur blurted, "Don't we have to save Matthew?"

"And how do you propose we do that?" Francis asked in a sing song lilt, "We are trapped here, and your magic doesn't work. Spoons?"

"Ah! How stupid of me!" Arthur exclaimed relief clear in his voice, as he quickly stumbled away from the predatory Francis, "I forgot."

He ruffled in his satchel, and triumphantly dug out a small explosive. "I should have just used this in the first place."

Francis' eyes widened in shock, "You stupid man! You mean I could have been saved this.. transformation all along?"

Arthur shrugged, "Shouldn't have interfered at a vital point."

Francis watched as Arthur stuck the explosive near the lock, pressing some things, before quickly scooting back to the other end of the room.

Taking the cue, Francis scurried back beside Arthur, and together they waited, until there was a small explosion and the door swung open.

Deciding not to talk, the two crept out into the creepy looking basement, Arthur carefully holding his satchel, and studiously avoiding staring at Francis' freely swinging breasts too much.

Fortunately, as far as they could tell Ivan hadn't heard anything, as they made their way up the stairs. The top door was closed, but after a few nervous creaks on the wood, they managed to have it swing open.

The kitchen was dark, and Arthur idly wondered if Ivan had gone to bed, or perhaps wandered off somewhere in search of Matthew. Debating whether to just escape, or look around, he cast Francis a look that was met by 'Go look for him of course!'

Going against the fleeing instinct, Arthur crept further into the house. It seemed to have a rather neglected sort of feel, as if Ivan barely visited the place unless summoned.

The main floor had no inhabitants, and they already knew that no one was in the basement.

Taking courage by the horns, the two nations crept up the stairs to the upper level.

Inwardly, Arthur groaned, so many rooms! And what if they happened upon Ivan's room? What then?

Most of the doors were open, and a quick glance let them know the room was empty.

However, two of the doors were closed.

Quietly, not even breathing, they attempted to open a door, it swung open easily, and they found themselves staring at their sleeping captor.

There was a silent debate about what to do with him, but as their captor grunted and turned over, they decided to close the door.

The second closed door was locked.

This must be where Matthew was…

Francis, displaying a rather large amount of cunning than Arthur wouldn't like to give him credit for, took out a bobby pin, and picked the lock. With a small click, the door swung open to reveal…

A rather disturbing shrine to Vodka, but nothing else.

Nimbly, like two children escaping from a prank, they escaped Ivan's house, the cold Moscow air hitting them like a punch to a gut.

Quickly, they ran, down the strange winding streets, until their lungs seemed to tear up from lack of air.  
Hands on knees, they doubled over, attempting to regain some sense of semblance of where they were, and how they could manage to get to some place safe.

"I don't think Matthew is here," Arthur managed to get out, "I mean, within Russia. He must have escaped, if there was any truth to the story."

Francis nodded, puffing some hair away from her effeminate face.

Arthur watched as the pale moonlight filtered down onto Francis' making her skin seem more soft and angelic than it usually was. The blue eyes sparkling with the adrenaline rush seemed to pull Arthur, tug at him, their eyes level for once from their awkward bending in attempting to gain more air.

Should it be funny that they were at equal amounts of fitness? Arthur thought, as he reached out, and pulled Francis towards him.

"Arthur?" came the question, as the Englishman eyed those delicate lips.

"Shh," Arthur replied, bringing their faces closer together, so close he could taste the others breath, their lips scant millimeters apart, getting ready to touch, before a loud gunshot startled them apart.

"You shouldn't try escaping." A childish voice said, and they realized with some horror that they had in fact not escaped Ivan's house unnoticed.

Ivan game into view, a large shot gun in his arms, "Now if you promise to go back peaceably.."

"Never you wanker!" Arthur shouted, grabbing Francis, and ducking down an alley. They were fast, but the steady foot steps behind disheartened them.

Twists and turns, followed by well aimed gun shots drove the two nations ahead in terror, aiming for whatever Embassy was closest, just so that they could properly teleport to safety.

"Running is only making things worse!" a sing song voice called out, it seemed to echo all around them, and they knew that Ivan was teleporting quickly after them.

They were both under an extreme disadvantage, trapped in Ivan's prime territory, their own powers weakened by distance.

Arthurs' eyes widened as a familiar flag drew into view, and he knew that it had all the possibility of not working, but there was that slim chance.

"Francis!" he hissed, as loud laughter filled the street way. Francis looked over, confused as Arthur veered off to the left, but quickly following.

It felt like their bodies were about to burst from exhaustion, as they crashed into the door of a British Tea and Cake Shop.

"Angl-?"

Arthur wrapped his arms around Francis, concentrating, it taking a few moments for what Arthur was trying to do to fully sink in.

"No Arthur!" Francis managed to pant out, before their positions switched, and Arthurs back faced the open street. A loud gunshot could be heard, before that familiar yank surrounded the two, and the world melted away.

A searing pain was burning Arthurs side, as he looked around, his grimace turning into a bit of a smile as he realized that they had made it safely back to England.

"Arthur!" Francis' desperate voice filled his ears, as Arthur looked to the other, to make sure she was alright, before everything blanked out.

He woke up warm and snuggly.

His eyes opened to the view of his room, and he wondered how he had gotten there.

Something smelt delicious, and as he attempted to sit up, he realized that he had a very sore back.

The night before came flooding back to him, each memory crisp in it's horrid detail.

"Arthur! You are awake!" a familiar voice said, and he turned to look at the doorway, his eyes taking in a still, very female Francis, holding a breakfast tray of food. "You were asleep for a long time… so I made myself busy saving the ingredients in your kitchen."

Arthur knew it probably wasn't a good time to be feeling this, but as he looked at the untucked white shirt which seemed to strain against Francis' breasts, something akin to lust entered his veins as the other walked across the room towards him.

"How did I?" he half asked, as his eyes fell upon what looked to be some sort of work of art on the tray.

"I carried you, you had just managed to land us on the beach near Benfleet. The dirty looks I got for carrying a bleeding man onto the train!" Francis huffed as she lay the tray onto the bed, and began to fuss over Arthur's appearance.

"Oh." Arthur realized that his wounds had been dressed, however, he was still in his frilly nightgown. "Didn't you change me?"

The fussing paused for a moment, before Francis lightly replied, "I quite like your night wear, it's very fashionable. I thought you said you threw it out?"

Blushing, Arthur replied, "Ah uhm did I? Perhaps I meant something else."

Seating herself on the edge of the bed, Francis gave him a shrewd look, before lifting up a forkful of French toast. "Eat."

Feeling too weak to protest, Arthur did so, allowing the Frenchman to feed him, relieved that the conversation had ended about the nightgown.

When most of the food had gone, Francis finally asked, "So why did you turn us around? Take the bullet for me."

Sputtering slightly on his orange juice, Arthur stared at Francis in surprise, his cheeks reddening.

Swallowing, he finally replied, "Because I'm the only one who gets to bloody shoot you… plus when your clothes get ruined you're a nuisance. Might as well take the bullet myself, and save myself the grief."

"Arthur, you are not very good at lying, but today you are being very sweet." Francis replied, as she lifted the tray up, and moved it out of the way onto the floor.

Arthur eyed up the very feminine behind, the lust seeming to resurge at the site. Gods, Francis was sexy no matter what form he took, he could be a tentacle monster for all cared, he just wanted to get his hands on him. Er.. well her now.

"Angleterre, you keep eying me up as if I am a large stash of tea," Francis' amused voice caught him out.

"Ah.. I .. "

"Speaking of which, how do I turn back? Or will I be female forever?" Francis replied, "I do not mind… but I do think some of the other nations may find it weird. Although, I will get to wear a whole different array of fabulous clothing."

"I… I'm not too sure." Arthur admitted, "But that's not important right now… we need to figure out where Matthew is. Make sure he's safe."

Francis waved her hand, as if to fend off the words, "I phoned Ludwig this morning, he informed me that Matthieu is safely ensconced in his basement, and the whole kidnapping situation was some sort of strange idea his brother thought up."

Arthur scowled, "Do you bleeding tell me I got SHOT in the side for no fucking reason other than for Gilberts amusement?"

Francis nodded, before adding, "But, I wouldn't say for nothing."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, as he watched Francis crawl towards him on the bed.

"You see, I am very grateful you saved me, and my clothes, that jacket was very expensive, and having a bullet hole in it would not have been a very good accessory."

Straddling the Englishman, Francis began to unbutton the white shirt.

"Francis? I – I'm shot." Arthur began, his cheeks heating up at the site.

Smirking, Francis quipped, "That has never stopped you before… Plus, you are in your own country, you should be healing up fast."

"Ah yes… but you're also a female?" Arthur managed, as he watched breathlessly as the shirt fell open, revealing two perfectly shaped breasts.

"That doesn't mean I have forgotten how to pleasure," came the response, as the shirt was tossed onto the floor.

"But ah…" Arthur wasn't sure what else to say, as those breasts swung gloriously close to his face.

"Relax," Francis cooed, "And let me properly take care of the hero…"

Arthur gurgled slightly, as Francis pressed their lips together in a soft kiss, a feminine hand reaching up, and gently pulling on Arthurs hair.

The lips lightly moved across Arthur's face, kisses on the cheek, nose and brow.

Lightly, a tongue reached out, and pressed against Arthur's bushy eyebrows, the other man melting entirely as his erogenous zone was touched. All protests died, and he allowed himself be carted off into another world by the other (wo)man.

Deft hands removed the blankets, before undoing the top buttons on the night gown.

"Angleterre," came the throaty murmur that shot right to his groin, "I need you naked."

Obediently, like a little child, Arthur stuck his arms up, allowing the other to undress him, feeling embarrassed when the perfect woman looked upon his body, the amused mouth saying, "I was amused to discover you had gone out to save Matthieu with no underwear on."

Arthur flushed, "I .. there was no time."

Laying a hand upon Arthurs chest, Francis smiled warmly, "The fact that you didn't care about your decency, in order to save Matthieu touched me. You strange man, always trying to play it as if you don't care."

"I do care." Arthur murmured, blushing.

"Yes." Came the purr, as the nightgown was tossed across the room, and those lips were once again brushing up against his, "Sometimes I think you care a little too much."

They seemed to be pulled to each other like the tide of their shores, a strange magnetic force that could never come undone unless the entire world exploded.

Arthur sighed happily into the kiss, his hands reaching up to touch Francis' breasts.

They were so soft, such a joy to hold, he thought as he ran a thumb teasingly against a nipple.

Francis let out an appreciative sound, and Arthur began to tease and pinch the nipple, touching it possessively.

In response, Francis ground her clothed crotch down against Arthur's very exposed one, trapping his penis between the sharp material of the pants, and the smooth skin of his stomach.

Their mouths entwined, their tongues slid lazily against each other, as Francis began to rock.

A low moan escaped Arthur, his hands moving from her breasts, to run down the feminine sides, to hook against those dratted pants.

Fumbling, Arthur undid the button, and the zip, insistently tugging them down.

"So impatient," came the whisper, as Francis pulled away, sitting up slightly, to remove the pants, slowly pulling them down to reveal, that she as well hadn't been wearing any underwear.

It was a strange thing for Arthur, to see Francis undressing herself, and, instead of the expected penis springing forth, to have things end in a neat little V.

The pants were also thrown onto the floor, and dazed green eyes watched, as the other knelt down by his cock, those pert lips forming a slight moue, in thought.

Twinkling blue eyes looked up at him, "You seem quite excited already, here I thought you were just a plain old fag."

Arthur scowled, as his lips blurted out, "I'm just France sexual!"

Blushing as he realized what he had just said, Arthur attempted to turn over and hide his face in the pillows, only to be stopped by hands firmly holding him into place.

"I like that answer." Came the purr, as soft lips lightly moved against the stiff cock, "As a reward, I will lick you."

Oh gods, Arthur thought excitedly, she's doing it again. Stating her own actions…

The soft mouth moved against the excited prick, the tongue reaching out and licking. Soft light licks as if he were an ice cream.

The touches were too light, but highly pleasurable, the pain in his side turning into background noise.

The mouth enveloped the tip of the penis, lightly sucking, while a naughty hand snuck down and cradled his scrotum.

"Francis," Arthur moaned, his air expelling as touching suddenly stopped. "What?"

"Shh." Francis shifted, lifting her body over Arthurs, "Relax, I am saying thank you."

Green eyes watched, as Francis lowered herself, rubbing her wet cunt against Arthur, as she positioned, before taking him in.

It was strange, different, but it also felt fucking good.

The entering was slow, Francis adjusting her body to the new intrusion, gasping when finally she settled fully onto Arthur's lap, her heavy breathing showing that this was a new sensation for her.

"How is it?" Arthur managed to ask, as he reached forward, and gently touching Francis' thigh.

"Different," came the murmur, as she adjusted herself. "You?"

"Fantastic," came the reply, followed by, "Don't over exert yourself."

Smirking, Francis replied, "My dear Angleterre, I do not think it's possible to over exert oneself while doing ones favourite activity."

As if to prove her point, Francis began to move, setting a rather sedate rhythm, and effectively shutting Arthur up.

Leaning forward, Francis snagged Arthur's mouth in a steamy kiss, the new angle bending Arthurs dick in a delightful way, causing him to strike something inside of Francis that made her see something on the equivalence of fireworks.

"Oh yes," came the hiss, "There!"

As if to prove the point of how fucking fantastic the angle was, Francis' sped up, their skin loudly slapping against each other, their mouths connected in a sloppy devouring kiss.

Neither of them lasted long, Arthur coming first, in a series of quick releases, that seemed to trigger Francis' own mind numbing orgasm.

Mouth slackened, Francis rolled off of Arthur, but snuggled close, mindful of the healing wound.

Tired hands reached out, and tangled themselves into the wavy blond hair, a murmured, "Thanks."

"We should do this sober more often," Francis replied, nuzzling her nose against Arthurs neck, an arm lightly placed across the torso.

"You think so?" Arthur replied, feeling warm and happy.

"I know so."

Their breaths melded together, as each dropped off to sleep, their thoughts drifting in entirely different directions.

It was cold, and damp, not at all Matthew had expected when they had set him up in 'prison'.

They wanted to make it seem realistic.

Matthew pointed out that the rest of the basement looked comfortable, and normal, wouldn't it be weird to have a 'prison' cell, with damp stone walls tucked into the corner of the place?

He was chained to a wall, and had gone through that awkward cramping numbing stage ages ago.

When the heck are Arthur and Francis going to get here to save me? Came his grumpy thought. Plus, he was overdue for his bathroom break. Gilbert had taken this too far. He knew he should have run back to Canada the moment those manic smiles had come into play.

Alfred was right when it came to those Europeans being fucking insane!

The door crashed open, Matthew looking up hopefully, only to have it quail into mush as he saw who it was.

Gilbert strode in, followed closely by Lars, and then a smug looking Ivan.

"What the heck is going on ya hosers?" Matthew grumpily demanded, as the door closed behind them, not liking their predatory looks.

"Well, seems like our planned worked, with many thanks to Ivan shooting Arthur in the back," Lars said with a grin.

"WHAT? YOU SHOT ARTHUR! THAT WASN'T IN THE PLAN!" Matthew freaked out.

"Don't worry, he's fine, getting taken care of by Francis," came the reassurance.

"So… are you here to free me?" Matthew asked hopefully.

The other three shared a look, before Ivan, with a smile on his face asked, "Why waste this opportunity?"

"Eh!"

Matthews eyes widened as all three, who seemed to closely resemble great white sharks, closed in around him.

"Maple!"

_~fin_

**AN: **If anyone wants to write what happened to Matthew, feel free. Just spam me with the stuff. 3_  
_


End file.
